


wish you would

by illimerence



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Aquinea isn't innocent either, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29328375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illimerence/pseuds/illimerence
Summary: When Dorian asked the Iron Bull to be his plus-one to Rilienus’ straight wedding, he didn’t mean to imply that he and Bull were together. Sure, the idea of his parents’ faces at Dorian’s telling them that he’s dating (a) a man and (b) a qunari is Very Good, but he doesn’t want to put himself through that kind of stress, let alone drag Bull into it.And yet.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 23
Kudos: 107





	wish you would

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: _tell your dad if he says he's got beef i'm a vegetarian and i ain't fucking scared of him_
> 
> this fic contains canon-typical parental mental/emotional abuse.

There are several reasons Dorian asked the Iron Bull to be his plus-one to Rilienus’ straight wedding. Those reasons are as follows:

  1. While there is no bad blood between them, the fact remains that Dorian had, once upon a time, expected that if Rilienus ever married it would be to him, and that Rilienus had, once upon a time, broken his heart.  
a) To add insult to injury, Livia—Rilienus’ wife-to-be—is the very woman Dorian suspects Rilienus left him for. Not that Rilienus had told him as much at the time. No, despite the tears (and who Dorian is/was as a person), it had been a very amicable break-up.  
There had been no cheating as far as Dorian is aware, no screaming arguments, no slamming doors; just Rilienus saying, “I’m sorry, this just isn’t working for me anymore.” Dorian had managed to wait until Rilienus had left his apartment before breaking out the brandy and the ugly crying. Rilienus had even waited a respectable six months before officially starting things with Livia.  
Dorian, meanwhile, had spent those six months, and the months that followed, on the rebound, hopping from bed to bed and getting drunk before midday.  
i) Unfortunately, Livia is an utterly charming woman, and Dorian can’t fault Rilienus at all for falling for her. They had shared several classes, and while Dorian had been busy being heartbroken and trying his best to resent her, he found himself liking her entirely too much for the woman his ex-boyfriend was dating.
  2. Dorian had grown up with Rilienus, sort of. Their parents were friends, their fathers worked together, and they had spent many a dinner party sneaking glasses of wine in the garden behind the house between courses. However, Dorian and Rilienus only started dating once they were both at university, and as such, they have a lot of mutual acquaintances that Dorian has purposefully lost touch with after graduating who will most likely be in attendance. These acquaintances include, but are not limited to:  
a) A whole three (3) of Dorian’s one-night stands, all of whom he had slept with during the Dorian Pavus Pity Party in the months after Rilienus left him, and only one of whom, as far as Dorian knows, is out; and  
b)Far too many women who adored Dorian in a rather uncomfortable, quasi-homophobic manner – the kind who dragged Dorian on shopping trips and girls’ nights, needled him into admitting which heterosexual male classmates Dorian thought were attractive, and referred to him as their Gay Best Friend.
  3. As if this weren’t enough, Dorian’s _parents_ are going to be there, as Altus Social Custom dictates. They don’t have any idea that Dorian and Rilienus used to be in as serious a relationship as is possible when you’re twenty years old; Dorian has kept that part of his life firmly from them since his disastrous coming out at age sixteen and the subsequent overt homophobia from his previously reasonable-seeming parents.  
a) Rilienus, of course, knows all about Dorian’s fraught relationship with his parents. He’d sent a letter with the invitation with a reminder that Dorian’s parents would also be invited, as if Dorian could forget twenty-one years of social training.  
“I understand if you choose to not attend because of this,” he had written, “but I care about you very much, and would appreciate your being there on such an important day for me.”  
i) It should be noted that this, from anyone else Dorian knew in Tevinter with the exception of maybe Felix, would be automatically classed as ‘obvious manipulation attempt’ and Dorian would not attend out of spite. However, Rilienus is Rilienus, and also Dorian might still be a tiny bit in love with him, and so not only does he get the benefit of the doubt regarding possible manipulative communication, but Dorian actually feels _more_ obligated to be there. At his ex-boyfriend’s straight wedding.  
b) Since moving south, Dorian’s parents had eased up on the whole “have you tried just not being gay?” thing, and the whole guilt tripping thing, and the whole low-key emotional abuse thing, and Dorian had thought, for a while, that he’d been exaggerating. This lasted until Dorian’s first visit back home, when Dorian’s parents had attempted to set him up with the daughter of one of his father’s colleagues, and then wouldn’t stop talking at him about it the entire week, thinly-veiled homophobic insults and weird half-baked threats of conversion therapy and blood magic. Eventually, Dorian had left the house, and stayed in Felix’s spare room for the remainder of his time in Tevinter.  
Since then, Dorian has managed to make excuses to not stay at his parents’ house for most visits home, with the exception of a couple of horrific Satinalias where he just couldn’t avoid it. Bringing a plus-one with him from Ferelden is an excuse his parents will actually accept for staying at a hotel.
  4. All of these social stressors are more than enough reason for Dorian to need some back-up from Bull. When you add his only very recently self-admitted drinking problem to the mix… well, the need for a handler (for lack of a better word) becomes obvious.  
Dorian is one hundred percent certain that if he came alone, he would be glued to the free bar, throwing back cocktails by the dozen, get obnoxiously drunk barely half an hour into the reception, and ultimately end up screwing someone he definitely shouldn’t. Like the best man. Or the celebrant.
  5. Somewhat less important than the other reasons, but still something Dorian had been thinking about when he asked, is that Dorian knows that with someone like Bull there, he might actually have something of a chance of genuinely enjoying himself.



So. The need for moral support in this situation has been made obvious. But why Bull, rather than, say, Josephine (much more socially acceptable in upper-class Tevinter and much less likely to make some horrific social faux-pas accidentally-on-purpose) or Krem ( _slightly_ more socially acceptable in upper-class Tevinter, has insider knowledge of Tevinter culture and a talent of shit-talking that would very much be appreciated in a situation such as this)? 

  1. Bull is, without question, Dorian’s best friend south of the Tevinter border, and
  2. Dorian is in love with him.



The latter reason should probably count against Dorian’s taking him as his date, if he was counting things objectively. But he’s not. He doesn’t just want the emotional back-up Bull happens to be an expert at; he wants to see Bull in a suit and tie, to link arms with him, and to pretend to himself for a couple of hours.

The key phrase there being ‘to himself.’

What he didn’t mean was to imply to anyone else that he and Bull were together. Sure, the idea of his parents’ faces at Dorian’s telling them that he’s dating (a) a man and (b) a qunari is Very Good, but he doesn’t want to put himself through that kind of stress, let alone drag Bull into it.

And yet.

And yet, here Dorian is, in the hallway by the bathrooms, with Rilienus gazing earnestly at him with those warm brown eyes of his that had, at one point, made Dorian weak in the knees, and telling him “I’m so, _so_ happy for you, Dorian.”

“You are?” Dorian raises one eyebrow. “I thought that was supposed to be my line.”

Rilienus laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with it. He’s a little drunk, Dorian thinks. Dorian, on the other hand, has had a grand total of two glasses of sparkling wine over the last hour, and wishes he were much, much drunker than he is.

“Dorian,” Rilienus says again, “look. Dorian.” He may be drunker than Dorian thought. “Last time I saw you, you were a mess.”

“Oh, thanks a lot.”

“No, no, look,” RIlienus says, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking into his eyes, “I was so worried about you. I didn’t think—but now—Bull is so _nice_ , Dorian. I think he’s been good for you. And he’s clearly so in love with you, the way he looks at you, and just, I just… I’m so happy you found someone who looks at you like that.”

Dorian has the option, here, to tell Rilienus the truth. He could say “oh, no, we’re just friends,” and then Rilienus would apologise, and probably feel a little embarrassed, and definitely be all disappointed and probably pitying and, shit, did he have to tell Dorian he’d been worried about him? Fuck.

Rilienus is getting straight married. It’s his day. Dorian doesn’t want to ruin it with his… his loneliness, or whatever. It won’t be a big deal, anyway; after this conversation he’ll find Bull and tell him what just happened, and then they’ll hold hands a little, and dance to a couple of songs, and call each other ‘honey’ once or twice, and they’ll laugh about it later. And yes, Dorian might pine a little harder than usual, but he can deal with that. He has dealt with that.

It won’t make it weird. Dorian is certain that pretending to be Bull’s boyfriend won’t make their friendship weird. They got through That One Night, after all, and it changed nothing about their relationship, and this situation won’t be complicated by orgasms like that one was, so he’s confident that they’ll be fine.

Dorian goes with it.

Dorian finds Bull by the bar, drinking from a flute that looks comically small in his hand and being hit on by one of Dorian’s previously mentioned Female Friends From University Who Were A Little Too Invested In His Sexuality. He smiles broadly when he sees Dorian approaching (Dorian’s stomach does a now-familiar somersault at the sight), and the woman - what was her name? Cecilia? Or was that the other one? - looks over her shoulder to see who he’s smiling at.

When she sees him, she beams. “Dorian! Maker’s breath, it’s been so long! How are you?”

Dorian smiles politely back. “I’m well, thanks. I’m sorry - could I steal Bull for a moment?”

“Only if you promise to bring him back,” maybe-Cecilia says with a wink.

“Of course, of course. Bull?”

“Sure,” Bull says, and follows him outside into the sparsely populated gardens. Once Dorian’s sure they’re alone, he turns to Bull.

“Is everything okay?” Bull has his I’m-here-for-you face on. “I know this must be dragging up some old shit for you.”

“No, I’m fine,” Dorian says. “I mean, I’m not _fine_ , but I’m not… not fine… oh, you know what I mean. There’s just been a bit of a complication.”

“Hmm?”

“I ran into Rilienus. We had, ah. An interesting conversation.”

“That must have been difficult,” Bull says, very seriously.

“No - I mean, yes - I mean - he may have assumed that you and I were something of an item. And… I may have done nothing to dissuade him of that assumption.”

There’s a long moment where Bull says nothing. And then he starts laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” What’s so funny about the concept of you and I being together, is what he wants to say, but he thinks that may show more of his hand than he means to. “Really, Bull, is it that ridiculous?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Bull says once he’s collected himself. “It’s just, I had a strangely similar conversation with an older gentleman claiming to be your father.”

Dorian goes cold all over. “Oh, Maker. He wasn’t awful to you, was he?” Then the rest of what Bull said finally processes. “Hold on - what?”

“He wasn’t overtly racist or anything,” Bull says, “don’t worry. It was sort of… I don’t know if ‘sweet’ is the right word, but…”

“My father? Sweet? You must be mistaken.”

“Fashionable guy, dark hair, looks like you if you were thirty years older?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Dorian says automatically. “Sweet? What in the world did he say to you?”

“It was something along the lines of - ‘I know what you must think of me, but I only ever wanted what was best for my son -’”

“I’ve heard that line before,” Dorian mutters -

“‘And,’” Bull continues pointedly, “‘I’ve never seen him look so happy, so I suppose you must be good for him.’”

Dorian stares at Bull, speechless.

“Are - are you certain?”

“Oh, yeah. He was very awkward about it. Couldn’t look me in the eye, but he said it.”

“Oh.”

They stand there for a moment. The gardens really are beautiful, this time of year - the crystal grace is in full bloom, lovely against the green of the lawns. Dorian finds himself wondering how they manage to have it grow this far north. Then he shakes his head.

“Well. Sweet or not, it doesn’t make up for the decade of homophobic abuse and threats of conversion therapy, but it’s a start. What did you say to him?”

“I, uh, how did you put it? I did nothing to dissuade his assumptions.”

“Well,” Dorian says. “Oh. Well.”

“I thought, you know. Since it’s been rough with your family, I thought I shouldn’t get in the way of progress.”

“Right,” Dorian says. He feels a little shell shocked. “Well. There’s only one thing to do, then. We, ah, act like a couple for the rest of the - well, the rest of the weekend, I suppose - vishante kaffas, I’m supposed to be having dinner with my parents tomorrow. I suppose you’ll have to come along to that, too.”

“Guess so,” Bull shrugs. “So - how’d you want to play it?”

“Maker, I don’t know. Some hand holding? A pet name here and there? We should probably dance together, at least one slow song.”

“Got it,” Bull says. “Kissing?”

Dorian is glad it’s dark out here, so Bull can’t see the sudden flush on his cheeks. “If - if we must,” Dorian says, cursing himself for his stammering. 

“What about a hand on your back?”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine.”

“And what do we tell people about how we met?”

“We tell the truth,” Dorian says. “Just make it a little more romantic.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Ready to head back inside?”

Dorian closes his eyes. “I need a moment to prepare myself, I think.”

“Whatever you need,” Bull says. “Space?”

“No, you can stay.”

“Alright.”

“How about a walk around the gardens? I think that should be long enough.”

“Sounds good, kadan.”

“Kadan?”

“Pet name. Just practicing.”

“Alright… amatus.”

Inside is much too busy after the calm of the garden, but Dorian’s been attending high society parties all his life, and he steps into that role as he steps through the door.

“Now,” he says, “I’m supposed to deliver you back to Cecilia.”

“You mean Sabina,” Bull says. 

“Shit. Yes. Sorry - it’s been a long time.”

“She seemed to remember you.”

“Yes, well. I was her Gay Best Friend. I was also Cecilia’s Gay Best Friend. And Delphine’s. And… shit, there was another one. What was her name?”

Bull laughs. “I see.” He puts his hand on the small of Dorian’s back as they walk through the crowd, and Dorian has to take a deep breath to hold back the shiver threatening to run through him. 

It’s fine. Bull’s hand is big and warm against his back even through his tuxedo jacket, but it’s fine.

“Lot of people here,” Bull observes. “Rilienus must be a popular guy.”

“It’s Tevinter,” Dorian says. “and he’s an altus. I can guarantee you, at least a third of these people are friends of his father he’s only met a handful of times.”

“And the other two-thirds?”

“Acquaintances from the Magisterium, apparently our entire year group from university… ex-boyfriends,” he says dryly. “Honestly, half the point of weddings in Tevinter is to network.”

“I can see why you left.”

“I left because my parents’ homophobia because too much to bear. I actually quite enjoy a good Tevinter party. As long as, you know, it’s not my ex-boyfriend’s straight wedding.”

Despite the length of time they were outside for, Sabina is still at the bar where they left her, idly fiddling with the straw in her cocktail and scanning the room. When she sees them, her face lights up and she gives them a little wave - and then her eyes go wide when she sees how close they are.

“By. The. Sword!” she squeals as they approach. “You guys! I had no idea!” She hits Dorian lightly on the shoulder, and Dorian schools his face into a friendly smile. “Oh, I’m so embarrassed - I totally thought you were straight,” she tells Bull, who, kindly, laughs.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“And you look so cute together! Tell. Me. Everything. How did you meet?”

“Through friends,” Dorian says, glancing at Bull.

“Our friend Varric knows everyone - he invited us both to the opening party for his bar, and we just hit it off,” Bull explains.

“Ooh, and was it love at first sight?”

“We were friends first, actually,” Dorian says, right as Bull says, “It was for me.”

Dorian looks at him sharply. “What? Lust at first sight, more like.”

Bull laughs and pulls Dorian closer, sliding his arm around his waist. “Okay, I’ll admit it: first thing I thought when I saw this guy was ‘watch yourself, Bull - the pretty ones are always the worst.’” 

“That sounds more like it,” Dorian says.

“I was right, too,” Bull says, smirking sideways at Dorian. “Nothing but trouble, this one.”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Best thing that ever happened to you, more like.”

“That, too.”

“Aww,” Sabina coos, starry eyed. “You two are so cute. How long have you been together?”

Dorian stalls, panicking a little. Maybe they should have planned out more of their backstory before they came back inside.

But Bull has it under control. “Officially? Almost a year.”

“And unofficially?”

“First day’s eve,” Bull says, like it’s nothing, like Dorian’s heart hasn’t just leapt into his throat. “Three years ago. We were the only single people at the party, and -”

And Dorian had just been unceremoniously dumped by Michel de Chevin barely a week before. He’d been in an awful mood, wine drunk and morose, something of a killjoy, and very much not looking forward to midnight, when everyone around him would be laughing and hugging and kissing enthusiastically while he would be alone with his second bottle of wine and his thoughts.

He’d been out on the balcony in the cold, looking out over the city and feeling almost poetic in his heartbreak, and Bull had sidled up to him, suggested they go for a walk, get away from the party (and all the happy couples) for a little while. So they’d left without telling anyone, and wandered together through Lavellan’s neighbourhood - and they must have walked for a while, because they were still out when the fireworks started, and Bull had turned toward Dorian and taken his face in his hands and -

“And he kissed me at midnight,” Dorian says. “Bull, I can’t believe you remember that.”

They hadn’t stopped kissing when the fireworks were over, either. They’d kissed for long enough that Dorian’s jeans had started to feel too tight in the crotch, and then they’d caught the first cab that would stop for them back to Bull’s apartment, and Bull had completely shaken up Dorian’s concept of what good sex was, and then - and then the next day it was like it had never happened at all.

They went for hangover food at the same place they always went, and Lavellan was there with Cullen and Sera and Dagna, and they just. Didn’t talk about it. Ever.

“Of course I remember,” Bull says softly. 

_It’s just for show,_ Dorian has to remind himself. _It’s just for the weekend._ He feels caught off-balance, uncomfortably so. They’d said they would romanticise the truth for their backstory, but bringing this up? After so long that Dorian was certain Bull had forgotten about it among his many other conquests?

“Anyway,” Bull says, turning his attention back to Sabina, “we just couldn’t stop falling into bed together, and we were already hanging out as friends, and then one day we realised we were pretty much already a couple, so why not make it official?”

“Oh, that’s so romantic,” Sabina sighs.

“Is it?”

“Well, you were friends with benefits, but you were pining over each other the whole time - I bet there were so many almost-’I love you’s, so many stolen glances… oh, I love this song!” She downs the rest of her drink. “Let’s dance! Come on!”

Dorian falters. He’s about three drinks short of being able to dance.

“C’mon, big guy,” Bull says, and takes him by the hand. “Just one song.”

“Ah - um - alright,” Dorian says. “But I’m warning you, I’m not nearly drunk enough to be any good.”

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” Bull guides him past the tables, the groups of people mingling, and onto the area that has arbitrarily been defined as the dance floor.

Bull is an unexpectedly good dancer. Dorian supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Bull has a wealth of incongruous skill-based hobbies - knitting, cryptic crossword solving, flower arranging - so of course he can dance as well.

Of course, as soon as they reach the dance floor the song changes to something slow and pretty and romantic. “Aw,” Sabina pouts. “I wish I had someone to slow-dance with. Guess I’m sitting this one out. Have fun, you guys!” 

Dorian clears his throat. “Well,” he says, positioning himself opposite Bull and hesitantly reaching up to rest his free hand on Bull’s shoulder. 

“Leaving room for Andraste?” 

Dorian scoffs. “What? No! I just don’t want to cause -” And Bull pulls him close, all the way, so there’s more of them touching than not, chest to chest. Or, well. Chest to face. “...a scandal,” Dorian finishes lamely. Maker, what has he gotten himself into?

“I thought you liked being scandalous,” Bull says, swaying slowly. Dorian sways with him.

“That was before, when I was actively trying to antagonise my parents,” Dorian mumbles.

Bull’s hand is light on Dorian’s waist, chaste, but it feels like it’s burning a hole in his clothes. His palms are starting to sweat. He feels like he’s having the coming-of-age experience he never had as a teenager, slow-dancing with his crush in the school auditorium, and he’s terrified he’s going to trip over his own feet or say something stupid or, Maker forbid, get an erection from how close they’re dancing in front of half the Magisterium, his entire university class, and his own fucking parents.

And the _are_ dancing in front of everyone. He’s hyper aware of the people watching them, whispering, a couple even pointing. Sabina has found her friends, and they’re all giggling together as they watch Dorian and Bull dance; he can’t see his parents, but he’s sure they’re there.

“Hey,” Bull says quietly. “I can hear you freaking out from here.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Dorian insists, but he can hear in his own voice how obvious that lie is. “Vishante kaffas, Bull, everyone’s watching - do you know how many of these people have said horribly homophobic things to me?”

“We’ll get through this,” Bull says gently. “All these people - they’re just people you used to know. They don’t matter any more.”

Dorian takes a deep breath. “I… yes. You’re right. It’s just hard. To forget.”

“After this dance, we’ll get another drink, go outside for some fresh air. Sound good?”

“Please,” Dorian says.

“Just a couple more hours,” Bull says, then adds, “I’m gonna spin you,” and does, slowly, then pulls Dorian back against him. “A couple hours, it’s not that long. Then we can go back to the hotel, order room service, watch a movie on pay-per-view, whatever you want. You could even take a bath.”

Dorian sighs, and - before he can stop himself - he leans into Bull, resting his head against his chest. Bull’s heartbeat is very loud. Is it always this fast? “That sounds wonderful,” Dorian says. But he’s imagining all the ways it could be better: crawling into bed with Bull, cuddling up against him, falling asleep waiting for room service. Waking up with Bull’s lips against his.

“Thank you,” Dorian says. “I know this isn’t what you were expecting when I invited you.”

“Hey, I love you, of course I’m gonna,” Bull says. When he speaks, Dorian can hear his voice rumble in his chest. “Besides, it’s kinda fun, right? Like we’re pranking all your asshole classmates.”

“I suppose it is.”

“And, I mean,” Bull continues, “I always have fun, with you.”

“That’s not true,” Dorian snorts. He pulls his head back to look up at Bull. “What about the time with the tequila in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, that part sucked, but we went to that pancake place after, remember? With the -”

“-the jukebox. I remember.” Dorian smiles at that. “Okay, well, how about when you had to fight that guy -”

“-the asshole who tried to roofie you?”

Dorian winces. “Yeah. Him.”

“Beating him up was the fun part of that.”

Dorian rolls his eyes fondly. “Of course it was.”

The song is winding down. Dorian’s chest isn’t so tight any more. 

“Hey,” Bull says suddenly. “Should I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Your folks are watching. It would make sense to kiss now. After that dance.”

Dorian cringes internally. “Okay,” he says. “Yes. Kiss me.” He tilts his face up, and then Bull’s lips are against his - soft and familiar, like they’ve been kissing each other forever, and Dorian barely suppresses the shiver that threatens his spine.

Fuck.

He’s fucked.

There are three brief but awkward conversations that Dorian has to navigate on his way from the dance floor to the bar and from the bar to the gardens:

  1. “Oh,” says the young woman standing hand-in-hand with Cyrus Caeso, Special Guest Number Two of the Dorian Pavus Pity Party, “so _you’re_ Dorian! I’ve heard sooo much about you,” she giggles.  
“I’m glad I made an impression,” Dorian says politely, extricating his hand from hers after a far too enthusiastic handshake.  
“Yes! You certainly did!” She winks very obviously at her husband, who flushes an even deeper shade of red.  
Poor Cyrus looks like a halla in the headlights, like he could sink through the floor into the Void itself and be happy about it. “I’m so sorry, she’s had a few too many -”  
“And it looks like you upgraded! Oh, don’t worry, darling, _I’m_ not about to trade you in for a bigger - I mean, newer model.”  
Dorian feels, rather than hears, Bull’s choked laugh.
  2. Rilienus is even drunker than he was in the hallway, goofy smile plastered permanently across his face, with a glowing Livia on his arm. “Dorian! Are you going to introduce us?”  
It catches Dorian by surprise, although he probably should have expected it, so he’s flustered as he says “Yes, of course - Bull, this is the happy couple, Rilienus and Livia Vestus; Rilienus, Livia, this my, ah, my boyfriend, the Iron Bull.”  
“We’re so glad you could come,” Livia gushes, “we know it’s a long way, but you and Rilienus were so close -”  
“Yes, of course, you know I wouldn’t have missed it -”  
“And we’re so pleased you felt comfortable enough to bring the Iron Bull with you,” Livia continues. “I know Tevinter isn’t the most accepting, but you two seem so happy together -”  
“You know, your husband and I had this exact conversation just a short while ago. Really, it’s your wedding, you shouldn’t -”  
“I know,” Rilienus says, picking up where Livia left off, “it’s just, I’m so happy, and I’m so happy that you’re so happy, and… I’m just really happy.”  
“We had no idea you were even seeing anyone,” Livia beams. “When you RSVP’d saying you were bringing a date we were so excited to see who it was!”  
“Am I what you expected?” Bull asks.  
“Not at all,” Livia says. “I mean no offence, of course, but I was picturing someone a little less…”  
“Horny?” Bull suggests with a smirk, and Livia bursts into startled laughter.  
“I’m not surprised,” Rilienus blurts. Everyone looks at him. There’s a beat where he should say something, but he just stands there, still smiling, pink and love-addled.  
“You’re not?” Dorian prompts.  
“We were together a long time,” Rilienus says. “I’ve seen your browser history.”
  3. Gereon Alexius has always been kind to Dorian. He’s always respected him in a way his own father has not. So Dorian is pleased when they run into him, and absolutely not expecting what comes next.  
They exchange pleasantries, Dorian asks after Felix (at home in bed), and then introduces Bull. “My partner,” he says warmly.  
Alexius’ eyes flick to Bull for less than a second. Then he lowers his voice. “Dorian. Stop.”  
Dorian blinks, confused. “Excuse me?”  
“You’re an adult,” Alexius says. “Shouldn’t you have outgrown these childish rebellions?”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”. Dorian can see Bull shifting uncomfortably from the corner of his eye.  
“It was one thing when you were eighteen, making a scene of ‘sneaking around’ with men, but you’re thirty. Why are you still playing this game?”  
It’s complete whiplash. The Alexius that Dorian knew as a teenager seemed honestly to accept Dorian for who he was, caring more about his academic abilities than his personal life.  
“It’s not a game,” Dorian says stiffly. “It’s my life. I thought you understood.”  
“I understand perfectly,” Alexius says. “You know I support you being gay. But being gay doesn’t mean you have to act like a stereotype, and you certainly don’t have to pick your partners based on what your parents will find most shocking.”  
Dorian clenches his jaw. Before leaving Tevinter he never would expressed his emotions in such a brazen manner, but Ferelden has made him soft. Still, he manages to keep some levity in his voice when he says, “Okay, then. See you around… Gereon. Enjoy the wedding.”



They make it outside after that with no more fuss, and Dorian feels the stress of being scrutinised lift a little. He sighs, and goes to throw back the rest of his champagne, only to be foiled by the complete lack of liquid left in his glass. He looks at the glass like it’s insulted him personally and says, “Well. That was disappointing. Although I suppose tonight was going far too smoothly - it needed a little upsetting.”

“You’re taking it pretty well, considering.” Bull shrugs. He takes Dorian’s empty glass from him and offers him his own half-full one, which Dorian gratefully accepts.

“I’m just surprised at the source,” Dorian muses. “I rather thought it would be my father.”

“To be fair, he did sort of throw a stick in the works himself.”

“A completely unexpected one. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that my father and Alexius had some sort of magical mishap resulting in their switching personalities.”

Bull makes a face. “That’s not actually possible, right?”

“Don’t worry,” Dorian says, patting Bull’s arm. “I won’t let the scary magisters hurt you.”

Bull grunts. “I’m more worried about them hurting you.”

“Oh, I have decades of experience in navigating these situations. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

They stand quietly for a moment, side by side and so close they’re not quite touching. Dorian has the ridiculous urge to lean all the way into Bull, wrap his arms around his waist and bury his face in his chest. Stupid. This evening has been one of the most disconcerting of his life.

“I can’t believe I’m not drunk. After the evening we’ve just had I should be drunk.”

“Yeah. I’m proud of you, big guy.”

“Oh, whatever.” Dorian doesn’t feel very proud of himself. He feels a little disappointed, more than anything. At least if he was drunk he’d be having a little fun with this. Then again, if he was drunk he’d also probably go over the top with the fake boyfriends thing and ruin their friendship with a little too much tongue or something else ridiculous.

“You wanna get out of here? Reckon we’ve done enough mingling.”

Dorian sighs and rubs at one of his temples. He feels surprisingly exhausted for a few hours’ worth of socialising. He must be getting old. “I really should stay for another hour, at least.”

“I don’t really think that Rilienus and his missus are gonna miss you. No offence.”

“It’s not that. It’s everyone else. It’s not the done thing, to duck out of a wedding before the bride and groom have left.”

“...And the consequences are?”

Dorian pauses. “Oh. I don’t live here anymore, do I?”

Bull grimaces. “Yeah, we’re definitely getting you out of here.”

“I need to say goodbye to my parents first, at least,” Dorian says. “And sign the guest book. And probably let Rilienus and Livia know that we’re leaving.”

“Got it,” Bull says. “I’m calling a cab for twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? That’s hardly long enough.”

“Thought a time limit would mean you don’t have to stick around making awkward small talk with people you don’t want to talk to.”

“That… makes sense. Thank you.”

Bull bumps their shoulders together. Or, actually, he bumps his elbow against Dorian’s upper arm, but there’s the same affection in the movement. “I love you too, bud. Now let’s get doing.”

Dorian finds his parents first, doing what they do best, which is drinking, networking, and making snide comments about each other when they know the other can hear them perfectly. “We’re about to head off,” Dorian tells them. 

“So soon?” his mother asks.

“Well -”

“I have the sleeping habits of an old man. Or a very small child. It’s past my bedtime, is what I’m saying,” Bull puts in, before Dorian can say anything.

“Yes, that.”

“If you’re sure,” Dorian’s mother says. “The Iron Bull, will you be joining us for dinner tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” She smiles, and it doesn’t reach her eyes at all.

It’s only a half-hour ride back to the hotel, hardly enough time to fall asleep, but still, Dorian finds himself being gently shaken awake by Bull what feels like moments after getting into the cab. His mouth is dry and his eyelids are heavy and he stumbles getting out. He has to catch himself on Bull, who holds him steady. 

“You need to lean on me?” Dorian shakes his head, but leans on him anyway. “Come on, big guy, let’s get you to the room.”

It’s a nice hotel. Dorian had wanted to shell out for a nice hotel partially as an incentive and/or reward for actually going to the wedding, and partially because he hadn’t wanted to subject Bull to the stresses of Altus Tevinter without also giving him some of the more positive experiences involved. Their room is on the sixteenth floor; it has a spa bath and an 80-inch television and two Qunari-sized beds, and when they’d arrived the evening before Bull had whistled low. “Bougie. I like it.”

What Dorian really wants is to curl up in one of those massive beds with Bull’s arms around him and falls asleep. It’s not going to happen, though, even if Bull is still touching him like he was at the wedding, steering him through the foyer with a hand on the small of his back and letting him lean on him in the elevator, an arm around his waist to keep him upright. 

As soon as they’re in the room, Dorian collapses face-down on the closest bed, not caring who slept in it last night. A few moments later, Bull sits next to him. “Hey.”

Dorian makes an exhausted noise into the mattress. It’s so soft, and the comforter is cool against his face, and he really could fall asleep right here.

“Hey,” Bull repeats, “no, you can’t sleep like that. At least take the suit off. Come on.”

Dorian groans and rolls onto his back. “How am I this tired? We weren’t even out that long.”

“It was a stressful evening,” Bull points out. “Of course you’re tired.”

“I want to sleep forever,” Dorian mumbles.

“Out of that fancy suit first. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“I know, I know.” Dorian sits up slowly, his back protesting at the movement. “Maybe I should have that bath.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

“I’m doing it,” Dorian says.

“Yep.”

“It’s happening.”

“Yep.”

“...I can’t seem to make myself stand up.”

Bull chuckles and stands to help Dorian to his feet. “You need help getting out of those clothes, too?”

Dorian stares at Bull. Bull stares back. Neither of them says anything for what feels like a very long time.

“Uh. I mean. Your jacket..?”

“Oh! Oh. Thank you, yes.” So Bull helps him out of his jacket, hangs it up neatly for him, and Dorian says “I think I’ll be fine with the rest,” half-jokingly; but he’s thinking about Bull’s fingers at his throat, undoing his tie or unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt, and he’s thinking about Bull’s hands low on his stomach, tugging the bottom of his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his trousers. 

In the bathroom he turns the mirror lights on but not the overhead, and runs the bath hot. It has water jets, so of course he turns them on, and it’s big, probably big enough that Bull could share with him - best shut _that_ thought down before it gains traction. Instead he goes over the evening’s events in his mind, a practice that his therapist has told him multiple times isn’t good for him, but that Dorian hasn’t managed to train himself out of yet.

He stares past himself in the mirror as he unbuttons his shirt and tugs it out of his slacks. Seeing Rilienus again, happy with Livia, didn’t sting as much as he’d thought it would, even if he did end up lying drastically about his life to keep from ruining Rilienus’ night. It was everyone else at the wedding that had exhausted him so thoroughly. He hadn’t realised how unused he was to keeping up appearances, having lived in Ferelden for the last several years.

And his parents - Maker, if there was one thing he wasn’t expecting it was well wishes from his father. In fact, now he thinks about it, he’s not entirely sure he believes Bull. Not that he thinks Bull would lie to him, not about something that important, it’s just that Dorian’s father hadn’t said anything to him about it all night. Although… since the blow-out argument he and his father had before he left Tevinter for good his father has always talked around the important things, only speaking straight if he’s speaking through a middleman.

Does this mean that his father has never thought that Dorian could be happy the way he is? Did he truly believe he was doing the things he did for Dorian’s benefit?

Dorian doesn’t know if he could cope with that. The idea that his father treated him the way that he did because he wanted what was best for the Pavus name, best for Halward Pavus’ legacy, is almost comforting compared to the idea that he may have actually believed that Dorian’s nature was inherently harmful to himself. But then - why would his father have said those things to him, if he only wanted Dorian to be happy?

Dorian realises belatedly that the bathtub is close to overflowing, and he’s still standing in front of the mirror in his slacks and open shirt, picking at a loose thread. He sighs and lets himself run a hand through his hair seeing as it will be wet soon enough.

His therapist is right - he shouldn’t think about these things. He always ends up thinking himself in circles until his chest is tight and all he wants is a drink. 

He cracks the door to the bathroom open. Bull is relaxing on one of the beds in his hideous pink-striped pajama pants, watching something vaguely recognisable to Dorian as a decade-old chick flick. He looks over when he hears the door open.

“Hey. Thought you were having a bath.”

“I am,” Dorian says. “I was, ah -” _hoping that you would join me,_ he doesn’t say. “I was ruminating,” he decides. “I was hoping you could maybe keep me company. Just - you can stay out here, I’ll just leave the door open a little… and we could talk?”

“Sure.” Bull mutes the TV. “What do you wanna talk about?”

Dorian leaves the door ajar and turns to undress properly. “I don’t know. Anything. I need a distraction.”

“Hmm. Okay. Did I ever tell you about the time I had to smuggle Krem out of his high school reunion in a wheelie bin?”

“I don’t believe you have.”

Dorian undresses, folds his suit neatly to be drycleaned later, and steps into the bathtub, sinking into the hot water with a sigh. 

“Well, it started when Krem decided it was a great idea to tell his former classmates he was his own twin brother.”

Dorian leans back against the headrest built into the tub, closes his eyes, and listens to the rumble of Bull’s voice from the other room, the way the words are rounded by his accent and turned rough by the timbre. He drifts as he listens, only half awake. He’s aware of the narrative of Bull’s story, but it’s more background noise than anything else.

The water jets feel like heaven on the small of his back, and the water is just this side of too hot - perfect, in Dorian’s opinion. He knows when he gets out he’ll be flushed all over. He slides his hands over his chest, not even aware of it, just aware of the heat, of the feeling of the jets against his body, of Bull’s voice. His thumbs catch on his nipple rings, and it’s nice, it just feels nice, like the heat and the jets and the sound of Bull’s voice, and he’s not even thinking as he thumbs at his nipples again, runs his hands down his stomach, rubs lazily at the skin of his abdomen. It’s just more pleasant sensation.

Bull’s voice rumbles on in the other room. One of Dorian’s hands grazes his cock. And it’s still so nice - he cups himself, sighing quietly at the feeling. He doesn’t even realise what he’s doing until he’s got his hand around himself and is working himself towards hardness, and then it hits him all at once.

Dorian’s whole body jerks as he snatches his hand back, splashing loudly, and he does _not_ choke on bathwater, but the noise he makes definitely sounds like he does. He clings to the rim of the bathtub and tries some deep, steadying breaths.

“You alright in there?” Bull calls immediately.

“Almost fell asleep,” Dorian stammers, horrified with himself. What in the world is wrong with him?

“You think you should get out before you drown yourself?”

“I was going to wash my hair,” Dorian says weakly. 

“If you drown in there don’t come crying to me,” Bull says. 

Dorian doesn’t dignify that with a response. “You can keep talking,” he says instead. “I was enjoying your story.”

He actually does wash his hair while Bull finishes telling him about the increasingly unbelievable shenanigans he and Krem got up to at Krem’s high school reunion, listening this time to the actual story rather than the sound of Bull’s voice. Then he gets out of the bath, puts his leave-in conditioner through his hair, washes his face, and wraps himself in one of the plush white hotel bathrobes.

“He lives,” Bull says when he leaves the bathroom.

“I’m not about to drown in three feet of water,” Dorian replies. “If I die it’s going to be much more dramatic than that. Violent and-slash-or romantic.”

“ _If_ you die.”

“Yes, Bull, _if_ I die. Keep up.”

He pulls a fresh pair of underwear on under the robe, facing away from Bull of course, and then shrugs the robe off to climb into bed. He sighs happily and slides down, pulling the smooth covers up around his shoulders. “Right. What are we watching?”

They dim the lights and watch the last fifteen minutes of Legally Blonde. Dorian’s asleep before the end credits roll.

Dorian sleeps heavily, but he has a series of increasingly fucked up dreams, starting with a recurring nightmare he has where he’s late for his harrowing and culminating in a sex dream where Bull rails him against the mirror of his childhood bedroom while Rilienus cheers them on in a wedding dress. He wakes up feeling not fully rested and uncomfortably aroused, and he immediately goes for a shower even though he just bathed the night before.

It feels wrong to masturbate about Bull while Bull is just on the other side of the door, but it’s less wrong than touching himself to the sound of Bull’s voice (he still can’t believe he did that), and he’s so stupidly turned on from that ridiculous dream that he does it anyway, biting the meat at the base of his thumb to stop any of the obvious noises that are threatening to spill out of his mouth.

When he comes out of the bathroom Bull is up, drinking coffee and reading something on his e-reader. When he asks Dorian how he slept Dorian almost panics that Bull knows about his dream. Was he moaning Bull’s name in his sleep? Objectively, though, he knows the question is just politeness.

Bull showers, and Dorian frets, and then they leave to meet Felix and Mae at the cafe they used to do Gay Brunch Sundays at in university which, surprisingly, is still there and still apparently owned by the same couple.

Felix and Mae are sitting at an outside table under the awning waiting for them, Felix in a wheelchair, and Mae gets up when she sees them approach and flings her arms around Dorian and Bull at the same time despite never having met Bull before. Bull, of course, takes it in stride.

“The Iron Bull!” Mae beams, “I’ve heard so much about you I feel like we’re friends already!”

Dorian bends to hug Felix. “Bad pain day? I saw your dad last night - he said you weren’t able to get out of bed.”

“Among other things,” Bull mutters darkly.

Felix rolls his eyes. “Of course he said that. He’d rather I be too ill to leave the house than to dare to show myself in public in a wheelchair. He thinks it’s giving up. I still have full use of my legs, after all - never mind the fact that I need to sleep for a day straight after walking for a few minutes.”

“Is he still getting on your back about yoga?”

“He’s well past that now. This month’s attempt to fix me is all about essential oils.”

“For fuck’s sake. He’s a university professor, he should know better.”

“It’s not his fault,” Felix says, sounding pained.

“Well, it’s not _your_ fault,” Dorian insists.

“I wasn’t saying that,” Felix mumbles. 

Dorian reaches out to pat Felix’s hand. “I know.” Then he turns to Mae. “And how about you? How goes the politicking?”

“Wonderfully,” Mae says. “I’ve always enjoyed a good bit of backstabbing, you know that. And you? How was the wedding?”

Dorian waves a hand. “Oh, you know. Surreal.”

“I bet,” Felix says. “When was the last time you saw Rilienus? Can’t have been recently, right?”

“We did get coffee last time I was home,” Dorian says. “And it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be, seeing him like that with Livia.”

“No?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it was horribly stressful. But it was less because of the happy couple, and more because of… well. Practically everybody else.”

“Rilienus and Dorian’s dad separately came to the same conclusion that we were together,” Bull puts in, “so we had to go undercover.”

Felix sort of chokes on his mimosa, while Mae’s eyebrows shoot up. Their conversation is briefly interrupted by the waiter, who takes their orders while Felix takes a long drink of water, and then, once the waiter has left again, Mae prompts, “Undercover?” with her eyebrows still disappearing into her fringe.

“Well, I didn’t want to disappoint Rilienus on his wedding night,” Dorian says. “And we figured - well. Father seemed to be… not as awful about it as he could have been… and I thought, you know.”

“Any progress is good progress,” Bull says helpfully.

Felix and Mae exchange a Look. 

“What exactly did he say?” Felix asks slowly.

“He didn’t actually say it to me,” Dorian says.

“He said he’d never seen Dorian so happy,” Bull says. “And that I must be good for him.”

“What the fuck,” Felix deadpans.

“This is the man who threatened to make you straight with blood magic, yes?” Mae clarifies.

Bull doesn’t drop his drink. He puts it down very carefully. “ _What_.”

“That was several years ago now,” Dorian reassures him. “All that matters is that he was strangely accepting of my apparent gay interracial relationship, which is more than I ever could have hoped for, so we’re going to keep that up for him.”

“You never told me he -”

“It’s not something I like to bring up.”

“You’ve been spending Satinalias with this guy.”

“Yes. He’s my family. Families do that.”

Bull opens his mouth to say something else, but Dorian touches his arm lightly. “Let’s not. Not right now.”

Bull grumbles but says nothing. Felix and Mae swap another Look.

“Anyway, Bull,” Mae says politely, like the previous exchange never happened, “How are you liking Tevinter? Have you ever been before?”

“A few times, actually. It’s different being here with Dorian, though. Nobody’s told me to go back to Par Vollen, yet.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Felix says.

“Quite,” Dorian says. “If anyone had said that to you in front of me, they’d find themselves with their eyebrows burned off.”

Bull leans into Dorian to bump their shoulders together. “Careful. You’ll have me thinking you care about me.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

“Love you too, big guy.”

Their food arrives. Bull steals some of Dorian’s crepes, and Dorian retaliates by stealing some of his hash browns, and also some of his bacon, and also some of his mushrooms. Felix and Mae keep Looking At Each Other. Dorian knows they’re doing it on purpose, and he knows that they know he knows, and so he chooses to ignore it.

When Bull excuses himself to the bathroom, though, both Felix and Mae lean across the table to Dorian like he’s about to tell them the most scandalous piece of gossip they’ve ever heard. “So?” Felix whispers. “What’s going on with you two?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s clearly something there,” Mae says. “Look at you, acting all couple-y with Bull.”

“We’re not.”

“You don’t even have the excuse of Rilienus being around,” Felix points out.

“There’s nothing going on,” Dorian says. “You know you’re just picking up on my own doomed feelings.”

“I don’t think so,” Felix says.

“He keeps looking at you,” Mae adds.

“And you keep looking at Felix,” Dorian says dryly. “Are you about to tell me you’re leaving your husband for him?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Mae says.

“Look. If there were something actually happening between Bull and I, you would be the first two to know. But there’s not. There’s really, really not.”

“I’m back,” Bull announces, sliding into the seat next to Dorian and resting his arm along the back of Dorian’s chair. Felix and Mae Look At Each Other again, and then they both turn that Look on Dorian.

Dorian makes an obscene gesture under the table at them.

After brunch they wander slowly back to the hotel via downtown so Dorian can stress-spend far too much money on things he doesn’t need: a pair of boots, purple eyeliner, the kind of coffee you can’t find anywhere in Ferelden. The kind of things that make him forget for a few moments that he’s having dinner with his parents tonight to introduce them properly to his not-actually-his-boyfriend boyfriend.

When they get back to the hotel there’s still three whole hours before they have to leave for the restaurant, and Dorian’s caught in that awful waiting space where he can’t start anything because his brain has decided that the only thing left to do today is meet up with his parents. He tries to read, but he can’t absorb a single sentence; he turns the TV on, but without something to do with his hands it’s barely a distraction. 

“You okay?” Bull asks after Dorian gets up, walks around the room, and sits back down for the third time in fifteen minutes.

“I’m fine.”

“If this is gonna be too much -”

“I can deal with it,” Dorian says. “They’re my parents. I’d like to maintain some semblance of a relationship with them.”

“You know, when I said all progress was good progress I didn’t realise we were talking about people who threatened you with blood magic.”

“I know.” Dorian stands again, paces the length of the hotel room and turns. “It wasn’t as big a deal as it sounds. That was just the worst of it. I’m not worried they’re about to actually try it, especially not now.”

Bull grunts. “If they do -”

“Then feel free to hit my father as hard as you like.”

The restaurant is obviously unused to Qunari guests. There’s a bit of a kerfuffle when they arrived to do with the fact that none of the chairs in the building can fit Bull’s Qunari-sized behind, but the staff don’t want to admit that they haven’t prepared for the possibility of a Qunari dining at their establishment, so they have to stand at the bar while someone runs out to find a Qunari sized chair nice enough for the restaurant in a very short time frame.

Luckily, Dorian’s anxiety over the evening has resulted in them arriving early, so by the time his parents get there the seating has been sorted and Dorian and Bull are sitting at the reserved table like nothing ever happened. They order drinks, make the usual food-related small talk as they look through the menu, talk a little about the wedding, and finally Dorian’s mother starts the third degree on Bull.

It’s a lot of “what do you do?” and “where did you go to school?” and “why did you move to Ferelden?” and the whole time Dorian’s father is sitting there silently, sipping at his wine. Then she moves on to the couple questions: “How did you meet?” “How long have you been together?”

When Bull says “It’ll be a year next month,” Dorian’s father finally breaks his silence.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asks Dorian, in that quiet but dangerous tone of voice Dorian associates with being discovered breaking the rules.

“I wonder,” Dorian says flatly. “It can’t have anything to do with your attitudes towards my sexuality, after all.”

“You know we only ever wanted what was best for you,” Dorian’s father says.

“You think threatening conversion therapy was what was best for me?”

Dorian’s mother steps in. “Dorian, really. Now’s not the time.”

Dorian takes a deep breath, grits his teeth, downs the last of his wine, and signals to the waiter to pour him another. Bull’s hand comes to rest on his knee under the table, warm and comforting.

“I apologise,” Dorian says awkwardly. “I was not expecting either of you to be accepting of my relationship with Bull. I suppose I am still expecting disapproval.”

“We were only worried about you,” Dorian’s father says. Dorian bites back the urge to give his usual retort when this conversation comes up. _Progress, progress, progress,_ he thinks, and forces a polite smile onto his face.

“I know,” he says instead. 

“We thought your proclivities would prevent you from living a fulfilling life,” Dorian’s father continues.

“Well, they haven’t,” Dorian says, still keeping that polite smile on his face. He knows that none of the people at the table, not his parents or Bull, believe that the smile is real, but at least two of them will appreciate his attempts at keeping things civil. “I have a job I enjoy and friends I love, and I haven’t had to give up any part of me to get those things.”

“Except for your family,” his father says.

 _Andraste preserve me,_ Dorian thinks. “I’m here, am I not?”

“We only see you twice a year,” his mother says.

“That doesn’t mean I’ve given you up. I just have a good life in the south.”

“And why did you move south?”

Dorian sighs. “I thought we weren’t doing this tonight.”

“This isn’t a fight,” his mother says. “We’re just having a discussion.”

“About how I’ve destroyed the family by moving away?”

“I didn’t say that,” his mother says. “You’re the only one who’s said that.”

Dorian glances sideways at Bull, who has a carefully blank expression on his face. Bull meets his eye and squeezes his knee gently. 

Dorian turns back to his parents. “Don’t twist my words, please,” he says, surprised at how he manages to keep his voice even. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“No. You didn’t come here to see us at all, did you? You won’t come to Tevinter for your father’s birthday, but you’ll come for the wedding of someone you haven’t seen in years. Honestly. Sometimes I think your father was right when he said -”

“Don’t,” Dorian’s father says.

“-that you don’t deserve to be our son,” Dorian’s mother finishes. 

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence at the table. Dorian fights the urge to just get up and leave. He _wants_ a relationship with his parents, even if they don’t seem to want a relationship with him.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Bull says calmly.

“Bull -”

“Stay out of it,” Dorian’s mother snaps.

“Mother!”

“All due respect,” Bull says, “but Dorian’s one of the best men I’ve ever known. I’m sure you know all about his academic achievements, but in case you’ve forgotten, he’s one of the foremost magical researchers in southern Thedas. He’s the faculty advisor for the mage rights group on campus. He works so hard, and it’s not to further his own career but to actually help other people, and he cares so much about so many things and I just don’t understand how you can’t see how amazing your own son is. He’s incredible. I couldn’t have picked a better guy to have fallen in love with.”

Dorian’s parents are silent.

Dorian clears his throat. “Um.”

“Anyway,” Bull says. “Read any good books lately?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Dorian says as they walk towards the taxi stand. Bull is holding his hand. His parents are still standing outside the restaurant, but Dorian doesn’t know if they’re watching them.

“I know,” Bull says. “I meant it, though. All of it.”

“Thank you,” Dorian murmurs. “I do appreciate it. Not that I’ll hear the end of it from them.”

“Fuck ‘em. When your dad told me last night he was happy for you or whatever I didn’t know he threatened you with blood magic, Dorian, fuck.”

“Would it surprise you to learn that that was one of the most civil dinners I’ve had with my parents since moving to Ferelden?”

“Somehow, no.” Bull opens the door of the taxi for Dorian. 

“It’s progress,” Dorian says. “Even though it probably didn’t look like it.”

“That’s good, at least.” They’re not holding hands anymore. There’s no need, since Dorian’s parents aren’t watching. But their hands are close enough on the seat between them that Bull’s smallest finger brushes against Dorian’s, and Dorian can’t tell if it was an accident or not.

“I don’t suppose you’re amenable to my drinking myself into a stupor?” Dorian asks.

“Not a chance,” Bull says. “Sorry, big guy, but that’ll only make things worse.”

Dorian huffs. “Fine. Since you care about me so much.”

It’s a much shorter cab ride than the night before, and Dorian, though tired, isn’t so dead on his feet. Bull helps him out of the taxi, but Dorian doesn’t need steadying on his way to the room. 

He showers and dresses for bed; when he comes out of the bathroom, Bull’s ordered room service desert: chocolate mousse, lemon cake, a thick slice of brownie with melting vanilla ice cream. They sit on the same bed and share desert and watch a movie - Bull insists that Dorian picks, which means they end up watching the last half of a horror comedy about a possessed, cannibalistic teenage girl, which turns out to be much better than Dorian had expected it to be, and then the entirety of _A Tevinter Werewolf in Denerim,_ which is one of Dorian’s all-time favourites - and then Dorian climbs into his own bed to sleep.

He’s just about to drift off when he thinks, in Bull’s voice, _I meant it. All of it,_ and his eyes snap open.

“Bull,” he whispers. “Bull, are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Bull says.

“You said - earlier, you said you meant everything you told my parents.”

“Yeah.”

“And you told my parents - you said you were in love with me.”

“Yeah. I did.”

Dorian sits up in bed. “Bull.”

“Dorian.”

“Are you in love with me?”

“Yeah. _”_ Bull says it calmly, and like it’s as obvious as the colour of the sky, and Dorian is furious and ecstatic in equal measure.

“And you didn’t think I needed to know because... “

Bull props himself up on one elbow and turns toward Dorian. “I thought you already knew.”

“What?”

“I haven’t exactly been keeping it a secret.”

“You haven’t?”

“I tell you I love you all the time.”

“Platonically!”

“Not actually platonically,” Bull points out.

“You should have clarified,” Dorian hisses.

“I did, actually. Once.”

“When?”

“You remember that one First Day’s Eve?”

Dorian gapes at him. “You’re fucking with me. You did not.”

“I did.”

“I don’t remember this.”

“I guess you could have been a little… overwhelmed at the time. And then, I don’t know, you were acting like nothing had really happened -”

“Because I didn’t know that you’d said anything!”

“-And I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”

“You didn’t want - ugh!” Dorian throws the covers back and rolls out of bed, landing with a thud. “How do you ever get laid?”

“That’s different,” Bull says. “Sex doesn’t have to involve feelings.”

“For someone whose whole schtick is healthy communication, you sure are fucking bad at it,” Dorian snaps, stalking towards Bull. “Here I am, pining over you for years - fucking years, Bull! - and the whole time you’ve been in love with me?” He looms over Bull, as much as he can, anyway.

Bull looks up at him. There’s a tiny smile on his face. “You’ve been pining over me?”

“I thought you knew!” Dorian says emphatically. “Now move, let me in.”

He shoves lightly at Bull’s shoulder until Bull shuffles back, raising the covers invitingly, and he crawls into bed and into Bull’s arms. 

“What makes you think I knew?” Bull teases, resting his free hand on the bare skin of Dorian’s back.

“You’re infuriating,” Dorian mutters. And then he’s being kissed.

Bull kisses slow, like he’s in a movie, like they haven’t just wasted five years dancing around each other. He holds Dorian’s face with one hand, his thumb sweeping across Dorian’s cheekbone, and he kisses Dorian deep and hot and so fucking slowly.

Under the covers is another story. Bull’s other hand is on Dorian’s ass, tugging him close against him, and they’re both hard and rutting against each other like they haven’t been touched in years. Dorian can’t still his hands, can’t keep them from clawing at Bull’s shoulders or squeezing Bull’s chest. His fingers itch to play with Bull’s nipples or scratch through the hair under his belly button.

So they kiss slowly and touch each other like they’re running out of time. Dorian manages to get himself under control for long enough to slide his hand between them to curl around Bull’s cock through his underwear, and he can’t help but moan when he does. 

The heat of Bull, how hard he is - there’s something about touching a man through his clothes that really does something to Dorian, those moments immediately before kissing turns to sex. 

Dorian tightens his grip slightly, and Bull inhales sharply, his mouth still pressed to Dorian’s. Dorian smirks into the kiss, drags his hand up the length of Bull until he gets to the waistband of his underwear, and then further.

Fuck. The head of Bull’s cock is poking out from his underwear, held against his belly by the waistband, and Dorian runs his palm over the tip, relishing the way Bull goes taught against him.

Bull’s breathing a little faster than usual, but his mouth is still so slow against Dorian’s, and if he didn’t have a hand on the evidence, Dorian would think that this wasn’t affecting Bull much at all.

Dorian peels Bull’s underwear down, and Bull moves to do the same, his hands coming to Dorian’s hips, thumbs slipping under the top of Dorian’s underwear and sliding them down around Dorian’s thighs, and then he’s shifting forward so their cocks bump.

Dorian wants to touch Bull’s dick some more. He wants to get his mouth on it. But Bull’s hauling him close so that their cocks are trapped between them, sliding together, and oh, that feels good too.

Bull pulls back from the kiss with a low groan, like stopping actually hurts. “What do you want?” His voice is low and rough and Dorian has heard it like this before, and it gives him the strongest sense memory of wine on his tongue and Bull’s head between his legs, like he can feel Bull’s tongue on him, teasing at the tip of his cock. It makes him gasp and thrust against Bull, fucking into the space between them. It’s too dry to be comfortable, but it sends a shock of heat through him.

“Do you have lube?” Dorian asks breathlessly, rolling his hips forward to rub against Bull even as the friction is too much to really be pleasurable.

He really wants Bull to fuck him. Bull fucked him last time, far too long ago, and he remembers being utterly overwhelmed by it, but Bull’s size and relentless carefulness. He wants to feel that way again.

“Fuck,” Bull growls.

“Of course you don’t,” Dorian mutters.

“Any other time,” Bull says. “Next time,” he says. “Next time, I’ll take my time, open you up, fuck you as hard as you can take it until you come on my cock,” and Dorian moans helplessly.

Bull holds a hand in front of Dorian’s face. “Lick,” he says, so Dorian does, treating it like he wants to treat Bull’s dick, long wet lathes of his tongue interspersed with sucking desperately at the fingers, until Bull pulls his hand away and instead puts it between their bodies to wrap around both their cocks.

He kisses Dorian again then, swallowing his surprised “ah!” as he strokes them both. 

Dorian hasn’t enjoyed a handjob so much since he was a teenager. Bull’s hand is so big it almost completely covers Dorian’s cock, and that, combined with the size of Bull’s own dick, is almost overwhelming in itself; but Bull keeps doing this thing with his thumb, nudging up against the ridge of Dorian’s dick like he knows how much that drives Dorian crazy, pressing there insistently on every upstroke. 

Dorian can feel the throb of Bull’s pulse with their cocks pressed together like this.

“I remember, you know,” Bull says, his voice in his chest more vibration than sound, “how you felt inside.”

The words burst hot in Dorian’s core, his cock twitching, and he can’t help the strangled sound that escapes from his mouth at that.

“You were so tight, but you took me so well - couldn’t fucking believe it, when I was all the way inside you, how quickly you took me - I’ve been jerking off thinking about it for years.”

Dorian groans raggedly and kisses Bull hard. “Me too,” he pants, “I - oh, fuck - I might be… something of a size queen.” He rocks against Bull, chasing the slick slide of their cocks in Bull’s grip, how fucking good it feels.

Bull laughs. “Lucky for you I’m pretty sizeable.”

“I can, oh, I can feel it,” Dorian manages. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I want you to fuck me -”

“Yeah,” Bull growls, “I want that, want to stretch you open for me, want to fill you up and fuck you hard and come with you squeezing around me,” and that’s it. Dorian comes, shaking, over Bull’s fingers, making a mess of both their stomachs. Bull grunts, “Oh, fuck,” and his hand speeds up. It’s almost too much - it is too much - but then Bull’s coming too.

They lie there, too close, breathing each other’s air, and it’s sticky and disgusting and Dorian is overheating but he doesn’t want to move, not yet. He’s still worried that this will be another That Night that he looks back on in five years and thinks, I should have said something. I shouldn’t have left it at that.

He feels oddly nervous now, like anything he can say is going to be the wrong thing, and it’s not often he’s lost for words, but he doesn’t want to fuck this up. 

He’s worried he’s already fucked this up.

Then, “Was that okay?” Bull asks gently, and Dorian opens his eyes to look at him. Bull’s eyebrows are pulled together, not frowning, but concerned.

“I,” Dorian says. His voice cracks embarrassingly. He clears his throat. “In case I didn’t make it clear enough, I’m in love with you.” He looks away, unable to hold Bull’s gaze, but he sees his slow smile, and he feels it when Bull knocks their foreheads together lightly.

“Yeah,” Bull says, “I got that. In case I wasn’t clear enough, I’m in love with you, too.”

Dorian kisses him then, only he’s smiling and he can’t stop, and his smile bumps against Bull’s like neither of them know what a kiss is.

They take a shower, after that. Dorian thinks that he should be too tired to do more than clumsily wipe himself off, but he leans against Bull’s body with his eyes closed and Bull soaps him up and steals kisses. 

Last time they’d gone again not long after finishing the first time, and Dorian’s cock makes a valiant attempt at getting them started again when he thinks of it, but instead, when they climb back into bed, Dorian curls up with his back against Bull’s side and his head pillowed on Bull’s bicep, skin against skin, and they talk about nothing until they fall asleep together.

“You’re buying,” Varric tells Dorian a few days later, when they meet up for their standing drinks-and-gossip date. Not that Varric calls it that.

“What? Why?”

“I lost money on you. You know how many people bet that you two’d get together over the weekend?”

“What?”

“Literally everybody. Everybody we know. You two are a fucking cliche and nobody made any money. So. Drinks are on you.”

Dorian can’t argue with that.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this fic you're gonna love [would you do me the honour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22461748/chapters/53670811) by [emmett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmett/pseuds/emmett)!


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